


At the Emperor's Feet

by Laeviss



Series: Wranduin Week 2020 [6]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Black Emperor Play, Boot Worship, Butt Plugs, Coitus Interruptus, Consensual Non-Consent, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, Foot Fetish, In Public, M/M, Trans Male Character, Vibrators, Wranduin Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26486779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: Anduin learns to serve the Black Prince with him seated upon the throne of Stormwind. Written for Wranduin Week Day 7: Throne Sex!
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Series: Wranduin Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914982
Comments: 13
Kudos: 48





	At the Emperor's Feet

A lone figure waits in the entryway, the oil lamps flanking the throne room door casting his bowed head in silhouette. When he slumps, the light catches the sheen of silk and gold embroidery on the sash tied loosely around his neck. Its tasseled end sways across his bare chest, and his meager small clothes cling to his sweat-drenched thighs.

Wrathion leans forward. His crimson eyes flash, taking in the king from his feet to his disheveled blond hair. One claw-like hand drapes gingerly over the gold lion statue at his side, while he lifts the other to re-adjust the matching crown perched upon his head. His nails click against metal. His tongue presses between his half-parted teeth. He lets out a quick exhale, and a puff of smoke pours from his nostrils. 

Tilting his chin, and pulling back his shoulders, Anduin watches it curl away towards the vaulted ceiling. The dragon follows his gaze, before flicking his stare back over to the king, catching him clenching his hands in the front of his pants. 

“Ah, no,” the dragon quips, with another pointed click of his nails. “I didn’t say you could hide yourself, did I, your _Majesty_?” He lingers on the word, murmuring it like a taunt. “Now, please, do as I have requested and step into the light. Don’t keep your emperor waiting.”

Red blossoms upon Anduin’s cheeks. He purses his lips, but, after rocking on to the balls of his feet and shifting his weight to the left, he takes a single step forward. Wrathion hums, curling a loose ringlet of hair around the tip of his finger. 

“Excellent.” He settles in until his crown clinks lightly against the back of the throne. “My servants have dressed you exactly as I requested. How fortunate for me, and for you, as well. I am certain you don’t want to see a dragon displeased.”

Anduin lets out a choked sound, unintelligible behind a clenched jaw. Wrathion quirks his brow, dipping a hand into his open gold robe and removing a small ruby humming with draconic power. He holds it up, and a beam of moonlight from the window above bends over its curved surface.

The king’s wide blue eyes follow its glint. His blush deepens, and he lowers his head, locking his arms behind his back. Wrathion chuckles. 

“Good, good. The broken king knows his place,” he muses, tucking the stone to his side for later use. “Though I must admit, you are holding your head a bit higher than I would prefer. If you really want to appease me, I suggest you lower on to your knees and crawl to me.”

Anduin’s pupils widen. His lips move together, but whatever protest he formulates never rises to his tongue. Instead, he mumbles sounds with no meaning, sucking in his chest and staggering forward, still upright. 

Wrathion’s forehead creases between narrowed eyes. He waves his hand and raises his voice. “Is something the matter, dear Anduin? Have you misunderstood my command?”

Clearing his throat, the human glances at the cold marble floor. Wrathion’s hand hovers above his lap, and he curls his claws into his palm one by one. He keeps his crimson gaze trained upon the king’s pursed lower lip. 

“At the rug, then.” The dragon guesses the source of the king’s apprehension; his tone smooths to its usual tenor. 

Anduin’s shoulders relax. He nods, blond bangs swinging beside his cheeks. “Thank you, Wrathion,” he manages. 

Chuckling, Wrathion leans back and spreads his legs to either side of the armrest, giving himself a clear view of the human as he lowers on to the blue and gold runner. It was rolled down the stairs a few feet further than it should have been, pulled out by the dragon’s own hand to accommodate him. 

“Of course.” He whispers beneath a snicker. “I may be a ruthless leader, but I am not without my mercies. If you entertain me, I assure you I will make this easier for you. Now, crawl. Your master awaits.”

The human nods. Wrathion’s sash trails between clammy palms pressed against the floor, but Wrathion doesn’t object. Swallowing and licking his lips, he waits. Anduin’s cheeks burn brighter with every movement, the redness spreading from his face to his ears and down the back of his lowered neck.

Wrathion’s heart flutters. A touch of heat sparks between his open legs, but he keeps his back straight and his crown upright. Any moan that escapes might be taken for weakness rather than hunger, and he needs to retain his control. Clenching his hand around the lion to his left, he presses his nails into the lines of its face, and stills his hammering pulse.

Anduin shuffles up the rug, dragging his legs up the stairs and tucking them off to his side when he reaches the top. The change in position draws a whimper from his lips. Wrathion’s stomach jolts, and he bends forward. Two red slivers widen in the king’s glassy dark pupils.

“Ah, so you _have_ dressed as I asked, then.” His breath quickens; another curl of smoke escapes from the corner of his mouth. “Good. You are, as always, obedient to a fault, my dear, but I suppose that is why I am on your throne and you are between my knees.”

Anduin bristles, his sharp inhale quivering in the space between them. Reaching down and running his nail along the curve of his cheek, Wrathion titters, and adds, “I will make the plug worth your while, if you continue to satisfy me. Now—”

Drawing back, he crosses his right leg over his left and points the tip of his leather boot at Anduin’s lips. As the human’s cheeks darken, his gaze drops to the side. Wrathion ‘tsk’s. His foot nestles under his chin and draws his neck straight. His shoulders square, but against his chest, Wrathion’s sash quivers. 

“—As I was saying,” the dragon goes on, inspecting his golden nails while he nudges the king’s jaw with his shoe. “Take off my boots.”

“What’s the matter?” Anduin mutters, sharper than Wrathion expected. His slit pupils swell as he shoots him a warning glance. “You can’t take off your own boots, _Great Emperor_?”

“Excuse me?” The toes at Anduin’s jaw curl upward; the soft leather sole rests against the curve of his face. “Would you like to repeat that, _dear king_?” He presses. 

The human’s lips purse. With a huff, he goes for the latch on Wrathion’s outer calf, fumbling with the buckle a few times before sliding it free. Leaning back, and letting out a nervous moan, he pulls the item from Wrathion’s leg and sets it to the side.

Biting his lower lip, he wraps his arm around Wrathion’s ankle and eases the leg off his knee. He reached for the other, making quicker work of the buckle, and casting it off with a gentle ‘thud’ on the stair behind him. 

Wrathion raises a brow, curling and uncurling toes. As Anduin flushes and folds his hands, he trails the tip of a pointed toenail up the slope of his shoulder and to his pink face where his fingers were moments before.

He runs it along his chin, then up to the swell of his lip. Anduin’s shoulders shoot back, and his blue eyes widen. “Wrathion, what in Light’s name—?”

“Uh-uh. No.” Wrathion’s thick curls swish by his ears. The loose robe he wears slides an inch or two down his arm to reveal a nipple looped through with gold. Heat prickles at the nape of his neck, but he doesn’t pay his exposed skin a glance. His toe curls and poke into the gap in Anduin’s frown. The king sputters. Wrathion snarls.

“What did I say, my dear?”

“Wrathion, it’s—” He wrinkles his nose. His cheek burns beneath Wrathion’s arch. “This is gross.”

“Last I checked, I was the one wearing the crown, Anduin. I was the one seated upon the throne.” He taps the lion armrest, tilting his neck until the circlet slides down his brow. “Now, you can do as I have so politely asked, or we can do this Auntie Onyxia’s way.”

Beneath him, the human freezes. With a shrug of his now-bare shoulder, Wrathion chuckles. His eyes burn brighter. His teeth sharpen to points. He deepens his voice to an unearthly growl. “I had wanted to do this my way, dear Anduin. After all, what fun is there in playing with you if you aren’t in your mind to enjoy it?”

He nudges at Anduin’s mouth again. His upper lip curls. A shaky breath quivers on Wrathion’s skin, but he doesn’t yield. Bending at the waist, the dragon grabs the sash around Anduin’s neck and tugs it until he bows forward. The human’s shoulders shoot up to his ears. 

The next time Wrathion laughs, it is to blow smoke in his face. The red from his eyes shimmers upon Anduin’s sweaty brow, falling on his parted lips and down to his chest, rising beneath his loose hair. 

“But if I must,” Wrathion coos with another soft puff. “I will invade your mind. Don’t think for a moment I won’t. Now, please—” Lifting his foot, he rests his toes against Anduin’s mouth. 

This time, the human mutters on the heels of a sigh, “Yes, your Majesty.”

“Good.” Releasing his grip on the silk, Wrathion leans back and crosses his arms. His other knee falls to the side, a cool breeze slipping up his thigh to his bare sex below. Skin prickling and lower abdomen tightening, he sinks his sharp teeth into his lip to stifle a gasp. 

Anduin’s tongue, small and wet, flicks shyly against the pad of his biggest toe. As another jolt tightens within him, the human shakes. His hair caresses the curve of the dragon’s heel and his cry, soft, ashamed, disappears around the toe shoved in his mouth. 

Dampness licks at the thick nest of curls between Wrathion’s legs. He digs his nails into the armrest, and, before he can outright moan, drops his foot down the front of Anduin’s body to rest on the floor.

He crosses his other leg over his knee, both reluctant and grateful to close himself off from the breeze, before murmuring, coyly. “And now, the other.” His breath hitches on the final sound.

Resigned, Anduin slips his hand under Wrathion’s ankle and lifts it up. As the moonlight falls upon his dark skin, however, Anduin freezes. His lips part, and his brows shoot up. Pupils blown out, he shudders so hard Wrathion feels it up to his neck. 

Readying another tease, the dragon curls his tongue. It drops, heavy, to the floor of his mouth when something rustles behind the entrance to his left. A low grumble of a voice rattles the door. The mutter jumps in pitch and takes shape into words, hissing sharply:

“What is he doing in there?”

A smaller voice cuts in. A shadow flickers past the seam of the door. “Please, your Majesty, the High King has requested the night to himself.”

“Yes, but what is he doing? Something smells _off._ ”

“Sir, I’m sure he has his reasons. Your Majesty, please—”

Anduin shoots forward. His arms wrap tightly around Wrathion’s waist, and his face burrows into the folds of his loose sleeping robe. A chill crashes over the dragon from his crown to the tip of his wet big toe, and for a moment, he can’t lift a hand.

After a few deep breaths, he reaches under Anduin, tugging free his belt and throwing the sheer fabric over his boyfriend’s shoulders. As the king shivers, Wrathion hugs, and when Genn shakes the door handle, he narrows his eyes and extends his power to every corner of the room, scanning the wards he put into place, the tendrils of draconic magic jamming every bolt and lock. 

His hand moves to the top of Anduin’s arm, and he digs his nails into his skin. If the door cracks, he can pull them both behind the throne, he decides, and throw the fabric about them as he conjures something to preserve the human’s modesty.

Thankfully, it never comes to that. With another hollow knock and a grimace that penetrates the wood, the worgen snarls, turning and padding away on his paws.

Wrathion will have to remember to pay that guard an extra sack of gold for his trouble. Dropping his gaze, he finds Anduin staring into his face with a heated frown that turns to a twitch, then a giggle that gets lost in the sheer fabric clutched in his fingers.

The arms around his waist tighten. The king’s blond head bobs against the swell of his chest. Beneath his lips, Wrathion’s heart thuds. 

Swallowing and drawing back his shoulders, Wrathion snakes a hand around him and gives the loop of his sash at the nape of his neck a tug, not stopping until he draws the human’s face off his skin and stares down into his eyes. 

Anduin’s mouth falls open. He starts to whisper something, but Wrathion cuts him off on the first tiny hiss. 

With a jerk, he glowers, the red light from his eyes illuminating Anduin’s equally-crimson face. “What was that?” He chides. “Is the High King of Stormwind _laughing_ at his new master?”

“N-nope!” Anduin answers, followed by a far more serious, “N-no, no, your Majesty.”

“Good,” he says, taking care, this time, to lower his voice. “King Greymane can’t save you now, you know. Not when you’re here, in my domain. Is that clear?”

Anduin blushes, swiftly wiping the grin from his lips. “Yes, your Majesty,” he answers, dropping his gaze, slipping back into the act. 

“Mh, good, good. That’s what I like to see. Now, if you are done with jokes—” Wrathion glances towards the door, clearing his throat, and beginning again when he has smoothed the strain from his tone. “—Come a bit closer, my dear, so that I might put your giggling tongue to good use.”

Anduin bobs his head, resting a hand against the lion’s maw as he shifts his weight and rises on to his knees. His stare levels with Wrathion’s chest. The dragon slides his fingers on either side of his mandible and scoops him closer, inclining his head until he closes the distance between them.

His beard tickles Anduin’s chin, and their lips press together. Working his palms under the human’s hair and back towards his ears to hold him in place, he plunges his forked tongue between his teeth. With a moan, Anduin leans in; his neck relaxes into Wrathion’s grip.

Digging his nails into the human’s skin, Wrathion kisses, drinking in the delicate taste of his mouth and its coolness, a sharp contrast to the heat building at the back of his throat with every jump in his pulse. 

Anduin wraps his arms around Wrathion’s waist, slipping between the sheer fabric of his robe and his flushed skin. Wrathion allows it, but only because it gives him leverage to grab Anduin’s hair and tug his head to the side. With his neck exposed, he breaks the kiss to slide his tongue along his jaw. When he arrives at his ear, he nips the lobe, then sinks in his teeth behind the shell.

He bites. The human shudders and digs the pads of his fingers into his side. The skin beneath his lips reddens and bruises. Nuzzling his shoulder furiously with the tip of his nose, Anduin gasps, his breath tickling the hair peeking out from under Wrathion’s arm.

The dragon’s chest tightens, the ache between his legs returning with a jolt. His toes curl into the rug. He slips his mouth an inch lower and bites again, not relenting until he tastes a tang that ignited a fire in his core. 

Shuddering, Anduin slumps against him. Wrathion flicks his tongue back up to his ear and whispers, “Perhaps I should bite down on your neck and claim you here, right over my throne. Breed you like the little consort you are. Would you like that, my dear?”

Anduin nods. His bangs quiver against the swell of Wrathion’s pec. For a moment, the prince genuinely considers it, his mind conjuring images of the man bent over, face buried in the seat of his own throne, the small plug sliding out of him to make room for one of Wrathion’s dragon-sized toys. 

But a soft puff against his nipple quickly redirects his thoughts to the human’s tongue and trembling lips. His skin prickles, and he arches his back. His puckered flesh hardens under the caress of Anduin’s silky hair. 

Sliding one hand over and back through those golden tresses, he strokes them thoughtfully, templing his hand against the back of his skull, splaying it to cradle his face where it rests. His other hand dips to the side of the throne, closing around the gem he has placed there. 

Rubbing its smooth surface between his fingers, he glances down at Anduin, and smirks. “No, I think I have other plans for the king tonight. Sit back and undo my robe.” Releasing the human’s head, he flicks his nails and brings them down with a click on the opposite armrest. “And, please, make sure I can see your face. I want to see you ache for me.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Anduin murmurs. Squaring his jaw, he sits back and reaches for the gold sash holding the article partially closed. He works the tips of his fingers into the knot, burrowing until a jerk of his wrist loosens its ends with a swish. They fall to the side; the fabric parts. 

Anduin sucks in an audible breath, his gaze moving from his mound to the mechanical scars striping his abdomen, then up to nipples pierced through with gold rings. He licks his lips. The dragon flashes a ravenous grin. Twirling the stone under and over his knuckles, he drops it into his palm and gives it a squeeze. 

Red light pours through the gaps between each digit. Anduin’s eyes fly open as a gentle ‘hmm’ quivers in the air. “A-ah!” He gasps. His mouth snaps closed, and between Wrathion’s knees he clenches his thighs. Any peace he has made with the item inside him shatters the moment it starts to shake.

“Oh? Is something the matter, my dear?” Wrathion asks with an innocent shrug.

“N-no,” Anduin lies. His jaw tightens; a sigh escapes between gritted teeth. 

“Excellent.” Sweeping back his hair, the dragon leans into the throne, dropping his left knee to the side and lifting his right foot until it rests atop the nearest lion. Cool air teases his wet slit, and he, too, has to purse his lips to silence an open moan. 

Anduin between his knees, shifting and staring, with the most desperate flash in his eyes Wrathion has ever seen, does nothing to help him retain an appearance of control. He glances towards the door, recalling their near interruption. On his next exhale, he goes on with carefully selected words:

“As much as I love to see you burn for me, I’m afraid I don’t have all night. Come closer and serve your new emperor while you still have my favor. If you don’t, I will have to grab your hair and force you down myself.”

He speaks the final sounds with a disinterested wave of his hand, but another sigh rises in his throat when Anduin shudders. The king lowers his head and crawls up to him. The sash around his neck drags through the hair between Wrathion’s pecs, and when he looks down into his eyes, his blush deepens, claiming every inch of pale skin.

Cupping a hand under his chin, Wrathion watches the redness spread to his ears and down to his exposed shoulders. Grinning, he licks his lips. Anduin’s brows furrow, and his gaze darts down to the tip of Wrathion’s beard.

With a ‘tsk,’ Wrathion guides his face back upwards, tilting his head and stealing a kiss far too chaste for the circumstances. Against his mouth, Anduin whispers something lost under the hum of the plug moving inside of him.

Sweat clings to his brow and to the tips of his bangs. When he edges closer, the tent in his linen small clothes presses firm against Wrathion’s cunt, and he aches. He longs to drag him forward and buck his hips furiously against him. Instead, he sinks his claws into his shoulders and pushes him down: first to his neck, then to his breast: rising and falling.

He inhales the musky scent of the human’s arousal, and exhales a line of smoke that shimmers in the moonlight. Holding his crown and tilting his lower abdomen up, he focuses on the coolness of Anduin’s breath in his curls and the wet tip of his tongue teasing his chest. 

Slipping his claws through his tresses, he closes his eyes. The king kisses along the line of his pec, before dipping to his golden ring and giving it a gentle tug. An ache swells in the dragon, sending tendrils of heat down to the throbbing head of his clit, but he waits. 

Anduin’s fingers shake as they play with his hair. Soft words dance on his skin, kisses and whispers bleeding together into tingles that spark every one of his nerves to life.

Tittering sweetly, Anduin nuzzles. His thumb finds a raised scar running along Wrathion’s waist and ghosts down its waxy slope. He arrives at the dragon’s navel and purses his mouth gently around it, before following a trail of hair to the thicker nest of curls below. 

The pads of his thumbs trace the dragon’s lips, and he parts them, dipping his tongue into his wetness, lapping as he moves up the underside of his cock. It twitches at the sudden contact, something clenching tightly beneath it as it jerks into his touch.

A tremor races up Wrathion’s thigh, and his knee fall open. The toes of his other foot dig into the lion’s metal mane. The crown he wears thuds against the velvet backing of the throne. 

His back arches, and he cries, a pitch higher than he intends, “Ah, yes. That’s it, my consort. You know how to serve your emperor.”

At the sound of his moan echoing off the vaulted ceiling, his cheeks darken. Sweat prickles beneath the curls pressed down on his brow by his circlet. His throat tightens, and he swallows, but he doesn’t have time to clear the strain before Anduin licks him again.

The king traces a circle around his hood, then slides it back, revealing more of his swollen flesh to his cooling breath. Wrathion sinks his pointed teeth into his flushed lower lip. His arm shaking, he reaches down and hastily grazes his nails along the human’s scalp, looking for some kind of purchase. 

Balling up his hair, he squeezes, but makes no further attempt to direct his licking—for now. At the change in position, Anduin lifts his gaze. They exchange looks across his body; Anduin’s eyes half-lidded, searching, expectant, while Wrathion’s blaze, their fire consuming the draconic slits of his pupils.

The king exhales. His lips wrap around the head of his clit, and he gives it a testing suck. Wrathion’s knee shoots back towards his shoulder. He tilts his chin and fights to breathe. Desperation tugs and knots between his legs as he stares, unfocused, at the moon peering in from above. 

A tremble passes from Anduin’s shoulders pressed into his thighs up his chest and to the crown of his head. He twists the king’s blond locks in his left fist and squeezes down on the gem tucked into his right. As it flashes, the king whimpers. He bows, burying his nose in Wrathion’s curls, muffling a cry on his slick skin.

“Oh, Anduin,” The dragon praises. In his ecstasy, he has nearly let his mask slip, but the king’s squeak against his slit snaps him back to their game. He pulls his hair and pushes him forward. Anduin gasps and slackens his jaw to take more of his large clit into his mouth.

“Ah, yes, just like that.” Wrathion’s heel knocks against the armrest. He splays his palm across the nape of his neck to hold him in place. “I’m glad to see I’ve chosen a fitting consort for my reign. It’s so difficult to find a mortal who can truly satisfy me.

The human mutters something under his breath that shakes Wrathion down to his already tightly clenched muscles. They jerk and throb, aching, desperate. His fist flies to his teeth, and he bites down before another cry can slide from his lips. 

Anduin sucks, obedient and earnest. Wrathion presses up into him, knuckles wedged in his jaw and legs spread, wantonly, for the silent court. 

With every gasp and shiver, his tension builds. Words spill from between his fingers, less a practiced act than the summation of every fantasy they have ever discussed in the darkness of night with their limbs tangled desperately together. 

“My broken king, yes. It must be so hard for you to kneel before someone like me—” 

Anduin’s head bobs, his blond bangs swaying. Wrathion lifts and clenches his thighs. 

“But I’ll take good care of you, my dear. I will _never_ let you leave my side again, my pet. My spoils of war.” 

A choked sound shoots down Wrathion’s clit to the tightness below. The tease he has readied dies as his throat constricts. Throwing back his head, he tenses, thoughts swept away by the tingle of everything focusing into the sucking of Anduin’s mouth.

His hand hits the armrest. The crown slips down to the bridge of his nose, and the coil in him springs free, releasing in a quivering mess against the human’s face. Blood rushes in his ears, and in its wake, calm, a warmth flooding to all of his extremities.

Letting go of Anduin’s crumpled locks, his hand slides, instead, to the curve of his shoulder. He squeezes, then rubs, then lifts his head enough to smile. 

The king’s face—red and wet around the mouth—parts into a sheepish smile. The dragon’s heart leaps. Sucking down a shaky breath, he clicks off the gem in his palm, casts it aside, and drapes his arms over the human’s shoulders.

Anduin leans into his hold, not stopping until his cheek presses against his chest. As he relaxes, Wrathion inhales the heady scent of his own release upon him, as well as the salty spatter he left in the front of his linen small clothes. 

“Thank you,” Anduin murmurs, his eyes downcast. 

Wrathion sighs and smooths his hand through his tangled hair. After his heart rate settles, he sits up and regards him with a serious look. 

“How is your knee?” He asks, brushing his bangs off his furrowed brow. 

“It’s fine, really,” Anduin answers. His gaze focuses on a carving to the right of Wrathion’s face. “The rugs you pulled out certainly helped.”

“I’m glad to hear it. But even so, we should get you upstairs to your bath, or tomorrow might be more difficult than you would like.”

“Yeah.” Anduin blushes. He turns to the door, his lips tightening. “At least before Genn comes down and knocks again.”

“Indeed. Plus, I assume you’d like to remove that plug.” Wrathion smirks. “If not, however—”

“Ah, yes,” Anduin interrupts. His blush burns to the crown of his head. “All right, yes, let’s go.” 

Laughing under his breath, Wrathion rises, tying his robe around his waist and lifting the circlet from his head to place it, with the flourish befitting a true coronation, back on to its rightful owner.

He looks down into Anduin’s eyes, and slides a nail beneath his chin, memorizing every contrasting detail— from his flushed lower lip to the sapphires glittering upon his sweat-soaked forehead. 

Anduin quirks an eyebrow. His lips part, and his tongue presses between his teeth, but with a wave of his hand Wrathion cuts him off. He steps around his legs, pauses, and wills his knees to stop buckling, before bending his arm at the elbow and holding it out.

Wrapping his hands around it, Anduin pushes himself off the ground. After a wince, he steadies. Leaning against Wrathion’s taller frame, he takes one step after another until he slips into his own pace.

Wrathion drapes the sleeve of his robe around his shoulder, pulls him against his torso, and casts a spell that wraps them both in its shadowy embrace. They step into the hall as one and vanish together into the night.


End file.
